“I see, I see,” he said nodding.  “You feel it imperative to lead your own life and try to live up to your own ideals.  That is good—­quite good.  And you are not in sympathy with your aunt’s friends.  Nothing more natural.  Of course it is important to be sure that your ideals are the highest possible.  Do you think they are?”

“They seem so.  They are the highest possible for me,” replied Austin earnestly.

“That implies a limitation,” observed St Aubyn, emitting a stream of blue smoke from his lips.  “Well, we all have our limitations.  You appear to have a very strong sense that every man should realise his own individuality to the full; that that is his first duty to himself.  Tell me then—­does it never occur to you that we may also have duties to others?”

“Why, yes—­certainly,” said Austin.  “I only mean that we have no right to sacrifice our own individualities to other people’s ideas.  For instance, my aunt, who has always been the best of friends to me, is for ever worrying me to associate with people who rasp every nerve in my body, because she thinks that it would do me good.  Then I rebel.  I simply will not do it.”

“What friends have you?” asked St Aubyn quietly.

“I don’t think I have any,” said Austin, with great simplicity.  “Except Lubin.  My best companionship I find in books.”

“The best in the world—­so long as the books are good,” replied St Aubyn.  “But who is Lubin?”

“He’s a gardener,” said Austin.  “About two years older than I am.  But he’s a gentleman, you understand.  And if you could only see the sort of people my poor aunt tries to force upon me!”

“I think you may add me to Lubin—­as your friend,” observed St Aubyn; at which Austin flushed with pleasure.  “But now, one other word.  You say you want to realise your highest self.  Well, the way to do it is not to live for yourself alone; it is to live for others.  To save oneself one must first lose oneself—­forget oneself, when occasion arises—­for the sake of other people.  It is only by self-sacrifice for the sake of others that the supreme heights are to be attained.”

For the first time Austin’s face fell.  He tossed his long hair off his forehead, and toyed silently with his cigarette.

“Is that a hard saying?” resumed St Aubyn, smiling.  “It has high authority, however.  Think it over at your leisure.  Have you finished?  Come, then, and let me show you the pictures.  We have the whole afternoon before us.”

They explored the fine old house well-nigh from roof to basement, while St Aubyn recounted all the associations connected with the different rooms.  Then they went into the picture-gallery.  Austin, breathless with interest, hung upon St Aubyn’s lips as he pointed out the peculiarities of each great master represented, and explained how, for instance, by a fold of the drapery or the crook of a finger, the characteristic mannerisms of the painter could be detected,